I have this friend.

We’ll call him Brian.

Now, Brian is a pretty cool guy and reminds me of Tejas in a lot of ways.

He’s been through some pretty life-changing experiences.

He has a positive outlook on life.

And he has an abundance of tattoos.

So Brian and I are talking and as we’re chatting, the subject of sex comes up.

I don’t know how we got on the topic, but I’m pretty sure it was me making a joke because conversations with me seem to inevitably head in that direction.

So there we are, discussing sex when Brian suddenly drops his voice low and says the word, “PUSSY.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but when I say that word, it just rolls off my tongue heedless of the company I’m keeping.

I practically SHOUT it.

And here is Brian, whispering it to me.

“Can I say pussy?” he asked me.

“You are so vanilla,” I tell him, “you can’t even SAY the word pussy!”

I laughed like I hadn’t laughed in years.

I’m pretty sure that if I looked up the definition of VANILLA in the dictionary, it would say, “See Brian.”

So consider this, if he has to whisper ‘pussy’ what happens when he has to say the c-word?

Does he blush and get tongue-tied?

Magic always comes with a prince

Disney loveMagic always comes with a prince

At least that’s what Disney and Hollywood lead you to believe.

Of course lately, there’s been less focus on the prince and more focus on the heroine, but you get the picture – love, above all, makes the story.

And how are we single ladies supposed to feel about this in real life?

Well, I’ll tell you, being single has never hurt my social life. In fact, I think I get out more and do more things simply because I don’t have a partner to hang out at home with eating pizza and drinking beer with on a Saturday night.

Being single didn’t hurt me when I was racing cars at the Stockton 99.


Being single especially didn’t hurt me when I was leaping from an airplane with a hot man and a parachute strapped to my back.

And it certainly didn’t hurt me when I went to the Alameda County Fairgrounds and ran with the bulls.

photo 4No, being single hasn’t hurt one bit.

Even my more carnal urges somehow manage to get taken care of.

So what then is my life missing without a man to “complete” me?

The answer is nothing.

I have friends and family who give me love and camaraderie and lovers who give me intimacy.

Everything else is icing on the cake.

Sure, it’s magical when life and love come with a prince.

But it sure as hell isn’t required.

Magic, is what you make of it.

This kiss

My first kiss was with Don, at a high school dance my freshman year, out on the dance floor.

He went in for a kiss then slipped me the tongue and I was like, “WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS?!”

It shocked me and surprised me.

I was not expecting a kiss.

My fist REAL kiss I got from my ex-boyfriend in high school.

He leaned me up against his mustang and kissed me until my knees melted and he had to prop me up against his car.

It was THAT good.

That kiss has set the bar for kissing for most of my adult life.

Until recently.

I was sitting in a hot tub at my friends’ house when it happened.

A woman planted a kiss on me that made me TOTALLY RETHINK HOW I KISS.

It was wild.


Soft yet demanding.

Filled with passion.

I decided right then and there that this kiss was going to change how I kiss men in the future.

Now, I emulate that kiss over and over again when I’m making out with somebody.

I’m 44 years old, I have two kids, and I’m still learning the nuances of passion.

Long live lifelong learning!


I should never meet men when I’m ovulating.

As you may know, I don’t use birth control for two reasons:

  1. It turns me into an emotional, crying basket case
  2. I enjoy the rush of hormones when I ovulate

For one week out of the month, I take a little ride on my roller coaster of hormones and IT’S DAMN FUN!

Oh, don’t worry.

I haven’t done anything.

I’ve been really good.

But the sexting thing?

It’s back in FULL FORCE.

Because the next best thing to getting laid is to talk about getting laid.

And I am helpless to stop myself ones the hormones take hold of me.

Before I know it, I’m breathlessly texting a friend.

Sending provocative pictures.

The other day, as I was sexting, I realized how much I like it.

How it’s part of the flirt for me.

Part of the chase.

Can he keep my attention without being too overt?

Will he say something too graphic and turn me off?

Can we keep the momentum going or will we lose interest?

Lately it’s been a string of good sexts.

So I have nothing to complain about and everything to celebrate.

Another successful hormone run through the streets of Michelle’s libido!

Preparing for the zombie apocalypse

The other day, I was chatting with a friend about being attracted to a specific “type” of man.

Seeing as how he was front row center when I flirted with his friend at Burning Man, my friend said that I CLEARLY have a type.

And it’s true.

I am not one to be attracted to men in suits, although I like a man who can get dressed up.

I like a man in jeans and a tight t-shirt who sports a beard.


I like them scruffy and down-to-earth.

Think Mike Rowe on Dirty Jobs and you’ve got an idea of what appeals to me.

Now, I’m not saying that I never go against type.

I’ve had two boyfriends who didn’t fit the mold.

I’m just saying they had a uphill battle and I will always, ALWAYS find myself attracted to the biggest, baddest, scruffiest man in the room.

Some women are attracted to fancy cars, wealth and expensive suits.

I’m attracted to trucks, 5 o’clock shadows and callused hands.

I’m not sure where this comes from.

My DNA is still in “caveman mode” and is attracted to men who can handle a gun, park a fifth wheel, and barbecue like they were born in a Weber grill.

Clearly my inner woman is preparing for the zombie apocalypse and wants a big, strong man to look after me.

Because who cares what kind of a car you drive or how much money you have in the bank when there are zombies trying to eat your brain?


I have a curvy body.

It’s always been curvy, ever since I was in grade school wearing a D-cup bra in 7th grade.

My body is far from perfect.

I will never give Heidi Klum or Kate Upton a run for their money.

And I’m okay with that.

After YEARS of hating my body and trying to diet and exercise it into a mainstream shape, I’ve given up.

The downside to not having a perfect body is that I don’t look good from all angles.

The upside is, I gave away my last fuck years ago.

I will get naked and jump in a hot tub along with the rest of the crowd, heedless of who is looking at my naked body.

I want to have fun and I don’t want to let anything to get in the way.

Thick thighs?

Got ‘em.

Soft belly?

I’ve got that too.


Pretty sure there’s acres of it on my backside.

Curvy butt?

I’ve got that in spades!

Ultimately, I think we all just like looking – naked, clothed, perfect, flawed, or whatever.

And every time I feel like I need to look different than how I look, I remind myself of the incredibly hot man who literally scooped me up and carried me off to his bed at Burning Man 2015.

Some guys (really) LIKE IT!

A Cure for Insanity

Oh God.

For a minute I forgot myself and I got back online to see who has been checking me out on Plenty of Fish.

And the answer is MANY MEN.

I had over 30 emails but as I scanned them, none of them were appropriate.

So I poked around a bit and found one guy I liked.

Likes the outdoors?


Enjoys dogs?


Likes curvy girls?

No check.

Actually, in his profile he specifically requested “petite” women.


So there you have it.

My foray into online dating lasted FIVE WHOLE MINUTES before I came to my senses and closed the browser window.

Sure, I like an athletic guy as much as the next woman, but I also like men sporting the “dad bod.”

Am I the only one out there who thinks that all bodies are beautiful?

I suppose if you know your preference is small and petite then it’s best you state that outright in your profile and not waste anyone’s time.

I have a tendency to be attracted to big tall “lumberjack” men.

But I don’t put that in my profile because, honestly, personality counts.

Two of my last four boyfriends have been anti-type.

All this goes to say that it took less than five minutes for me to realize why I got off internet dating in the first place.

Want to know the cure for insanity?

Five minutes on Plenty of Fish.

Still creepy

Years ago, I met a guy at Double D’s in Los Gatos.

We went on a date but he reminded me of one of my creepy ex-boyfriends and so I declined another date with him.

Two years later, he asked me out again and I, forgetting how creepy I found him the first time, agreed to a date.

After our second date, we went to his place to sample some high-end wines he had in his wine cellar.

He took me on a tour of his home and showed me a special bedroom.

I know what you’re thinking.

Was it like the red room in Fifty Shades?

The answer is no.

No BDSM toys.

However. . .

He had converted a spare bedroom into a grow room for marijuana.


I have never seen such bright light and greenery.

He pulled out a HUGE mason jar that was filled with buds.

Holy shit!

It was wild!

In my life, I’ve never seen this much pot.

I wound up leaving his apartment and never seeing him again.

In the end, my good sense got the better of me and I rethought the wisdom of getting involved with someone who (at the time) participated in an illegal activity for his livelihood.

Still creepy.

Now criminal.

No thank you.

Ch.. ch.. ch.. changes

My birthmom is moving away.

To Oregon.

She and my step-father have built a brand new home and will be moving in around June 19th.

I had no idea that this was going to happen so soon!

And let me tell you, I’m a little bit worried about having her so far away from me.

For the last twenty two years, she’s been no more than a 2 hour drive away from me.

Now she’ll be a 2 hour flight away from me.

I’m definitely having feelings about this but what they are, I haven’t a clue.



How will I see her when she’s 600+ miles away?

Honestly, I never considered how it would feel to lose her.

I’ve been taking her presence for granted.

I haven’t seen her as much as I should have or visited as much as I wanted to.

And she’s always been there for me when I needed her.

Their new home is BEAUTIFUL and it’s selfish of me to want her to stay.

I know I’ll adjust.

I’m just saying, I’ve got FEELINGS about this and they’re not all roses and rainbows.

I feel like I’m being left behind.

And it doesn’t feel good.

Spying eyes

My oldest son spies on me.

I know this because he called me up on the phone the other day to ask where I was.

Normally, I would have been at work.

But on this particular day I left work early to go to the doctor’s office.

“Where are you?” he asked me.

“On the freeway, heading to the doctor’s office,” I replied.

“You don’t have any doctors in that area. . . “ he told me.

“How do you know where I am?” I asked.

“I’m tracking your phone,” he said.


Why my son has suddenly developed an interest in my life, I will never know.

He used my password to log in to Messenger and THEN tried to blackmail me with information he found there.

“Buy me beer or I’ll tell grandma,” he threatened me.

“Go ahead,” I replied. “Grandma already knows.”

So there you have it.

My 18 year old son is spying on me so that he can blackmail me to buy him beer.

It may be time to change all my passwords.